cloistered away

People ask me fairly often if we have any pets. My response? “No, I have three kids under five.” Occassionally, Mark tries to convince me that we need an animal around here. The most recent time, he wanted to give Burke a hamster for his birthday. “Bethany, he would LOVE it.” While I know Mark’s right, I couldn’t seem to shake images of a hamster “accidentally” let loose and scurrying around the house or the potential smell of rodent-inhabited-living. So, although feeling like the grinch, I easily, firmly, and simply replied, ”no.” Truthfully, our neighbors have enough pets to make up for our barrenness. The other day, Burke came to the back door with fresh s**t on his feet (I think the explicitive in certainly appropriate here). Some large animal had done its business in our yard. Well, of course, Burke walked in it and then proceeded to smear it all over the patio with his feet. No everyone, I’m not ready for a pet quite yet. So, in the meantime, we’re dog-tagging our children, who sometimes like to wander out the front door into the street. This way, the people who find them know where these street monkeys and irresponsible parents live. No, really, the dialogue and thought process behind the dogtags (as seen in a picture a couple of posts back) went a little bit more like this: 

Mark has been writing a novel, a fictional memoir of several events surrounding one man’s life, among them, a war. So, as a clever way to stick out in a field where it’s pretty hard to stick out, Mark wanted to include pictures in the memoir, and of course his character-model needed dogtags. In the process of creating these dogtags, Mark also thought it would be a fantastic idea to have dogtags made for the boys, roping all necessary information around their neck, just in case they somehow find themselves lost. Now, there are only two types of living beings (that I’m aware of) who wear tags: the military and pets. Seeing as our boys don’t fit into either group, I thought Mark was joking. Apparently not.  

I remember as a child and teenager hearing, “why are you so eager to grow up? What’s the rush?” Even as a little person, I idealized the future. Certainly, the mystery of the unknown, the culmination of all these little events and years, must be better and offer more than the here and now. I remember thinking on the liberation I would feel as an adult, reveling in some future moment where all that I had grown to acheive or learn in these childhood years would would be recompensed: more playtime, more dessert, and of course, less structure — no one to tell me what to do. Now, here I am years later as an adult understanding the wisdom that the adults of my childhood were attempting to impart: tomorrow will one day become today, so enjoy today before it’s gone. 

I’ve come full circle, and am now one of the adults trying to speak this simple truth into my son, Liam. You can see it in his eyes, he senses that he’s missing out on something. He wants to partake of adult conversation and priveleges so desperately. In fact, Mark and I have to remind him fairly regularly that he is merely four, and therefore not our shorter equal.  Anyway, I recorded below some of the dialogue I’ve recently had with him, or comments that I’ve overheard him telling to others, to give you a brief glimpse of this child-bodied-adult. You will notice quickly that they all have one thing in common: telling others what to do.

Liam, the sage-like diplomat

(Mark and I were in the car bickering over what constitutes “good” driving.)

 Liam: You guys shouldn’t be arguing; I think it’s kind of like boasting.

Liam, the economist

Liam: Burke is really, really rich.

me: What does rich mean?

Liam: It means he has a lot of spider-man shirts.

Liam, the dentist

Liam: We really shouldn’t eat sugar.

Burke: Why?

Liam: Because all your teeth will fall out.

Liam, the dietitian (part 1&2)

(Tito sits down next to Liam with a coke to drink with dinner.)

Liam: Is that your coke?

Tito: Yes.

Liam: (with a disapproving glance) You know, cokes aren’t really good for you. Your body needs water; it’s a good choice.

————————————————————————

(We’re in the car and needing to stop for lunch, but there are very limited options.)

Mark: Oh, there’s a Sonic.

Bethany: OK, let’s just do that.

Liam: Sonic isn’t really good for you, but it’s OK every once in a while.

us: Thank you, Liam.

As some of you know, I work part-time at the writing center at Blinn College tutoring students in writing. Well, this last weekend five of us went to OU for a writing center conference where we each presented a paper/topic. (This might explain why my posts have been so sporadic and potentially half-hearted as of late: my mind has been otherwise preoccupied.) My mom graciously offered to watch the kids so that Mark could continue working on his novel and I could attempt to impart some wisdom (ideally) to other writing tutors on the value of periods of silence in tutoring. (By the way, my mom did end up hosting the other four tutors, along with my family, for the night when we were delayed by a freak snow storm that left behind 5″- 9″ of snow and horrible traffic, but I’ll tell more about that later.)

Well, while I was gone, Mom and Dad decided to take the kids out shopping for new shoes; they were a belated birthday gift to Burke, and fortunate for Liam, he shared in the loot, receiving a pair himself. Now, Mark and I are pretty predictable and minimal when it comes to the kids shoes — no blinking, squeaking, TV-character-smothered-plastic-looking shoes. So you can imagine the surprise, laugh, and eventually, slight dismay I had when I returned from my little escapade to the north and watched Liam and Burke run to the car in blinking-plastic-looking-spider-man shoes. What’s even better, they love them, and by that I mean – I have to convince them not to wear them to bed type of love. Mom, somehow knowing she would have to explain this new blinking paraphernalia, told me “I tried to get them the Converse, but they really liked  the spider-man shoes.” Sweet, sweet Nina.

This little scenario led me to thinking about all of the wonderful “treats” and “special experiences” our kids would miss out on without their grandparents, and here’s a few (most of which arrive through the mail, a treat in itself): Little Debbie snacks, any sort of candy or sweetened cereal, a lot of plastic toys (and now, shoes)…etc. But, these “vices,” these infractions to our ritualized lifestyles, contribute to what makes them, the grandparents, so wonderful. We (the parents) are the ones who regulate moderation, but they have the freedom, not to necessarily spoil our kids, but to give them things and do things with them that we can’t, or won’t. So, thanks Nina, Papa, PoPo, JoJo, Nana Pam, and Daddy O for the thoughtfully child-loving ways that you love on our kids and for all the ”junk” that transforms to treasure in their little world.    

Meet Sweetie-McGoody…

…and now, the cougar.

Blythe adds so much dimension and personality to our little family. Even at almost 17 months, she demands an audience. The Sweety-McGoody-Blythe greets me in the morning with her large, doe eyes, dimpled smile, and a “BOO!” Although fiercely independent, she still delights in company – her audience. As I watch her practice new ways to move her eyes or body to further express herself, I anticipate that Blythe will provide a wealth of stories and entertainment as she matures into the world of spoken language. For now, her body language communicates enough. The minutes when my or Mark’s attention is turned away and she needs/wants it, the cougar is unleashed: MOM! MOOOOM! (See photo 2) I can’t even begin to describe the decibel of noise that her tiny body produces. She doesn’t exert anger (although she does get angry), simply the need to be heard and seen. At times I keep functioning, doing whatever it is currently occupying me, only to realize later, “wow, it’s soloud in here.” (I’m guessing that I’m not the only mother who has learned to adapt to noisy sound environments.) The moment that I take the time to recognize and listen to her, she moves on (not necessarily quietly), as do I.  The cougar reverts to Sweetie-McGoody.

Mark and I like to keep things “spicy” by writing little notes to one another on our bathroom mirror (we’ll have to reconsider once Liam is able to read more than three letter words). Below is the love note I received this week: don’t worry, there’s nothing you’ll be embarrased by, but you will have to have some familiarity with the Empire Strikes Back:

“You make me feel so safe, Dear. So warm. I want to crawl up inside you like Luke Skywalker crawled up inside his taun-taun to protect himself from the sub-zero temperatures of Hoth, where the Rebel Alliance was hiding from the search droids sent be the Empire. That’s how safe you make me feel and how much I love you. If you ever need to cut me open and hide inside my body to stay alive — you can– but we should talk about it first. I love you. “

Just to clarify this is the simile:

So romantic.